


Eye for an Eye

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Don't Mess With David Rossi, Gun Violence, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, If you squint really hard you'll see the Hossi ship forming, Kidnapping, Pedophilia, Pre-Slash, Protective David Rossi, Stabbing, Torture, Unsub | Unknown Subject, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: Speeding through the downtown DC streets was dangerous, traffic didn't allow for much of it but Dave couldn't seem to make himself go the speed limit.  He whipped carelessly through lanes of traffic, finally hitting the highway.  Once he had some space to breathe, he picked up his phone and dialed the only person he could think of – Garcia.“Garcia, just listen – I'm sending you a photo now, don't ask questions.  I'll explain more when I get back to the BAU, get everyone together and send them this picture ASAP.”Garcia stammered for a moment, gasping when she saw the photo come through.  “S...sir...is...that Hotch?”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Every Thursday, for the last five years with very few exceptions, Dave and Aaron would meet for lunch at a small cafe in D.C. after Aaron’s weekly meeting with Chief Strauss. It had begun as a way for Aaron to let off some steam before returning to the office, always frustrated with the bureaucratic nonsense. They got the same meals, the same drinks, but the conversation was always lively and new. This Thursday was no exception – Dave pulled his car into a spot right in front of the cafe and scanned the street for Aaron’s, he was almost always first. He had to drive fewer miles, and he was also just simply a more punctual person than Dave. Sometimes Dave liked to take his time, take the longer way for the scenery and maybe to show off his car a little. He texted Aaron to let him know he’d parked and would get their usual table, put in their order and wait. Undoubtedly, Aaron was pulling into a spot anyway and would be right behind him. The hostess greeted Dave with a smile and gestured to his table, already set for the two of them the way they always had it, a carafe of coffee and two cups waiting for them. She breezed toward the kitchen as he sat, sending back their usual order without him having to ask. This cafe didn’t make the greatest food either one of them had ever had, but they valued the atmosphere – it was quiet, it was never busy just steady, but it was the staff that kept them coming. Five years at the same restaurant, you saw some people come and go, and you got very invested in others who were in it for the long haul. The long-timers were family. 

The food came, and still no Aaron. Granted, the kitchen was speedy, especially when the order was soup and sandwiches with one to go box (because Aaron never finished his entire sandwich, he never had much of an appetite after his meetings, unless you counted the way he decimated bottles of ibuprofen) but it was still concerning. Dave had already tried calling Aaron’s phone twice and it had gone to voicemail, which it always did when he was in meetings or on the road. By the time Aaron was 30 minutes late, Dave hailed the waitress and asked for more to-go containers for the entire meal, knowing he’d have to make the trek back to Quantico soon with or without his lunch partner. He was concerned, it wasn’t like Aaron just to not show up, he always sent a quick text or made a call if he was going to be late or have to reschedule. While waiting for the rest of the to go boxes, Dave opened the one he’d already had on hand for the leftovers of Aaron’s meal, and his heart jumped into his throat. Inside, taped to the lid, was a polaroid that made him feel sick to his stomach. It was a low light, grainy photo but it was clear as day – Aaron’s hands, they could belong to no one else, bound at the wrists with thick, rough rope, blood dripping from deep pressure wounds down his forefingers and thumbs. Dave stared at the photo, paralyzed for a moment, before pulling the photo out of the box and putting it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He hailed the waitress, asked her if anyone had put something in his to go box, but she didn’t know anything. He paid the bill and left the food behind, rushing out the door as fast as his legs would take him. 

Speeding through the downtown DC streets was dangerous, traffic didn’t allow for much of it but Dave couldn’t seem to make himself go the speed limit. He whipped carelessly through lanes of traffic, finally hitting the highway. Once he had some space to breathe, he picked up his phone and dialed the only person he could think of – Garcia. 

“Garcia, just listen – I’m sending you a photo now, don’t ask questions. I’ll explain more when I get back to the BAU, get everyone together and send them this picture ASAP.” 

Garcia stammered for a moment, gasping when she saw the photo come through. “S…sir…is…that Hotch?”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can. Send it to everyone and get them all to the round table. I’m on the highway now, about a half hour out.”

When Dave walked into the round table room, all eyes immediately turned to him, desperately seeking answers he didn’t have. 

“What is this, Rossi?” Morgan asked, staring down at his phone with a frown. 

“I’m going to tell you everything I know. Every Thursday, Aaron and I meet at the Mercury Cafe in D.C, after his meeting with Strauss. He’s never late, and on the occasion that he is, he sends a message. I showed up right on time and he wasn’t there, so I went inside and sat at our usual booth. The hostess, who knows us, put in our order and it was brought out with one to go box, because Hotch never finishes his sandwich and we’re usually cutting it pretty close by the time we finish so we get the box right away so we don’t have to wait. I waited for a half hour but I knew I had to get back, so I asked for a few more boxes, and grabbed the one already on our table. When I opened it…I saw that photo. It was taped to the inside.” Dave pulled the Polaroid from his pocket and showed the team, but he wouldn’t let anyone take it. He couldn’t let it out of his hands. 

“And you’re sure that’s…” JJ started, but she knew. 

“They’re his hands,” Dave answered through gritted teeth. “No doubt in my mind. And it’s not a joke, those wounds look fresh and they’re real.” Dave stormed out of the round table room, back to his office. He was angry, furious, seeing red. Emily followed him to his office quietly, entering just behind him. 

“Rossi,” she began, but she stopped when she saw him pick up a small envelope from his desk.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know…” she muttered, inching closer to watch him open it. The envelope looked like something you’d send a wedding invitation in, it was gilded in silver and gold, small and barely rectangular. Inside was a Polaroid that Dave threw back on his desk in disgust. Emily reached out for it, eyeing Dave as she did so – the photo was dim, worse than the last one, a photo of Aaron shirtless in a room with cement walls, his back cross hatched with thin, angry red lines, his head hung between his knees. Emily put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and when Dave reached for the photo and took it from her, she didn’t put up a fight. His entire posture had changed, his body was wound up, like he was ready to attack. She’d never seen him this way before. 

“Rossi?” she asked, her voice soft, cautious. He looked in her direction, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking through her. 

“Am I the target, or is he?” Dave asked no one in particular, as if he was lost in thought, trying to figure out what was going on. Of course both of them had made plenty of enemies over the years, there were countless people who might want to hurt either one of them. The wounds on his back, the way he was positioned facing the wall, it looked so familiar. He looked at the photo again and noticed in the bottom corner smeared bit of writing that read 2/3. He pulled the original photo out of his pocket, 1/3. There was another one. Another photo out there, somewhere, that would almost certainly push him over the edge. 

“There’s another one,” Emily had put it together too, seeing the numbers at the bottom. “Where would it be?”

Dave knew. There was only one place it could be. “My home,” he replied, tucking both of the photos into his pocket and making for the door. Emily rushed to keep up with him, not about to let him get out of her sight. The look in his eyes was dangerous, and she had a feeling he had some idea of what was going on after the last photo. Dave didn’t protest when she got into his car and buckled her seat belt, but he didn’t say a word to her either. They drove in silence to his home, the beautiful neighborhood didn’t look so beautiful when you were speeding through it to find a photo you didn’t want to see. His mailbox loomed before him when he pulled up, but inside was nothing. He peered at his property, knowing it would have to be there somewhere, and there it was – taped to his front door, like a party invitation. It was an envelope covered in colorful balloons, but inside was horror. The photo was of Hotch’s feet, just the tops of them, bound at the ankles and dripping in blood. In the blood on the top of one foot was a symbol, small and almost lost in the poor quality of the photo – it would have been missed by anyone who didn’t already know what to look for, but Dave had already known. It was a small happy face, drug through the blood with the tip of a knife and smeared by hand. 

“I don’t understand,” Dave muttered, his hands shaking with anger. Emily looked at the photo and turned away just as quickly. The wounds at his ankles were so deep, so raw, she couldn’t stomach it. 

“Who did this?”

“In 1996, Gideon and I caught a murderer who took adolescent boys. He bound them by the hands and feet, whipped and violated them, and his signature was this - “ he indicated the small happy face on Aaron’s foot. “He was a pedophile, he was a monster. He would completely demoralize these young men, and when they were broken, he’d violate them and kill them. We caught him, saved one boy, and Hotch was the prosecutor in his trial – put him away for life without parole. That trial was when Gideon and I first met Hotch, began trying to recruit him to the FBI – he was wasted talent, and he had a desire to do more. He told me he always felt like he was too late, he wanted to help catch the monsters, not just put them away. This was the case that turned him, made him apply to the academy. Anyway, this man, Theodore Lindholm, he died three years ago in prison, this can’t be him.”

“He was a pedophile though, why would a copycat take a grown man? Unless…”

“He had children,” Dave muttered, tucking the third photo into his pocket. “He had a lot of children. Most of them disowned him when they found out what he’d done, many had been witnesses for the prosecution and scattered all over the country afterward to live with family, but the wife and two of the older sons…they disappeared before the trial. We just assumed they were too ashamed, it happens a lot in the families of these monsters.”

Without wasting another moment, Dave and Emily piled back into the car and headed for the office. Emily spoke quickly with Garcia, instructing her to look up everything she could about the case and anyone even remotely related. Emily rushed out of the car first, slamming the door behind her and went for the office when she heard tires peeling out behind her. She turned in time to see Dave pulling out of the garage. She considered going inside for a moment, pursuing the paper trail, but she was worried Dave was going to do something rash so she quickly got into her own car and sped out, trying to catch up to the man. Luckily, with the cars he opted to drive, he wasn’t difficult to find and tail. 

Dave reached over when he heard his phone buzz on the passenger seat, grabbing it and clicking it on without even looking at the number. He’d assumed it was Emily calling to yell at him for ditching her, but a man’s voice came through instead. 

“You’ve figured it out, David Rossi?” came the voice, and Dave pressed harder on the gas pedal. “I’ve got one more photo for you, you’ll find it soon enough.” Click. The phone went dead. He sped faster through the city streets, speeding tickets and police sirens be damned, until he reached the neighborhood he remembered. This had been a local case, a local monster. He squealed through the side streets, peeling around corners, noting now a black car in his rear-view mirror that was keeping up with him. It was Emily, he knew, and it was okay. She could follow him for now. He screeched to a halt before a boarded up old house situated at the end of a dead end street – it had been Lindholm’s house. Realtors couldn’t give it away. Every time they put it up for sale, the neighbors would tell prospective buyers what had happened in there and everyone disappeared. It was boarded up, covered in no trespassing signs, windows full of broken shards of glass. Setting on the front steps was a bright red envelope, the corner wet with what looked like blood. Inside was another Polaroid, not one of the original set of three, a photo of a matte black mask lying on the ground with a black hoodie beside it, and Dave felt his blood turn to ice. Emily approached quickly, peering over his shoulder at the photo.

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “No way.” 

“Foyet’s mask.” At the bottom of the Polaroid was a series of numbers, just like Foyet had painted in the windows of the bus in Boston, written in blood. He’d been following their cases, he’d known what to do to get to both of them. For Aaron, it was always Foyet. But for Dave, it was simply Aaron. Nothing meant more to him than their friendship. This person knew all of it, somehow. 

“What do those numbers mean?” Emily asked, her voice quiet. She noted that four of the numbers matched the address of the house they were at. 

“The cafe, the office, my house, this house. Just like Foyet in Boston.”

“Fuck,” Emily muttered, and usually she felt bad afterward, she tried her best not to curse around her co-workers but this felt appropriate. Dave just looked at her, like he wasn’t in there anymore. This was someone else, someone who looked unhinged. “What do we do?”

“We find this fucker and we get Aaron back,” Dave replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Dave thought they'd had it in the bag. It didn't take long to figure out where Lindholm's wife and older sons had gone, or when they'd resurfaced. More difficult, however, was piecing it all together. As it turned out, Aaron had never gone to his meeting with Strauss because she'd had a scheduling conflict and canceled it. Aaron had never even gone to DC, in fact, by the looks of the shorts he was wearing in the 2nd photo. He was taken sometime during his morning run, which meant that he'd been gone hours by the time Dave had even known about it. It would have been easy to apprehend him while he was out running. Garcia had managed to pull up every bit of information she could on Lindholm, his trial, his family. It was gruesome and turned her stomach – she could do this job forever and never get used to seeing real life monsters. 

“Jeremiah Lindholm, the oldest son,” Derek began, staring up at the blown up versions of the photos of Hotch on the screen, unable to tear his eyes away. “The stressor would be easy, mom died four months ago and then his brother commits suicide. That's enough time to snap and plot some kind of revenge.”

“There's more to it than that,” Dave muttered, staring at his hands. It was Friday now, and he hadn't slept a wink. Hotch had been gone a full day and they weren't any closer to getting him back. His mind was in the dark place, remembering all of the crime scene photos from Lindholm's case, the reports that he'd abused his own children, knowing the full spectrum of cruelty that Hotch was in for. He wouldn't share that with the team, though. That was for him, it was why Lindholm had chosen him. He knew already that this was all about him, every breadcrumb, everything. It was for him, just like his father had laid everything out for Jason, Dave just happened to be along for that ride. He was a nuisance, but not this time. This time it was his. 

“What do you mean? Rossi?”

“There was some indication that Lindholm wasn't working alone, and Hotch had a theory that the wife and older sons were helping him, he saw things that no one else saw – it was why Gideon and I wanted to get him into the BAU so badly. We tried to find evidence for him, to prove his theory, but in those days...anyway, I think Hotch was right, they were more like him than they let on. The family business. Hotch had held onto that case, he'd mentioned it not too long ago, when Marie Lindholm's name popped up in the obits. He's had decades, this is deeper than just revenge, he wants something from me and he wants it now that his mother and brother are gone, the last of his kin. I think he saw us at lunch sometime after his mother passed, recognized us, and it became its own trigger, digging up something that he'd been suppressing for years. He knew we ate at that cafe and when I'd show up, he knew where I lived, my phone number, where we worked, he knew every move I would make.”

“Lindholm only took children,” Reid said softly, eyeing Dave. He'd been very quiet, folded in on himself, just listening. Keeping his eyes off of the screen, playing with his fingernails and the ends of his scarf, anything to keep his hands busy and his eyes off of those photos. “This guy...”

“The method of torture is similar, but this is different, its personal. He's using Foyet to break Hotch because he knows it’ll work, its a means to and end – he did his homework. I don't know how he got the information, but he knows everything. He's using Hotch to get to me, he wants something from me. Different M.O., same tactics.”

“So why can't we find him?” JJ asked, looking at Garcia, who looked stricken. She was pale and quiet, clicking away at her keyboard furiously. 

“Because Jeremiah Lindholm doesn't exist,” she said, exasperated. “He became a ghost after the trial, like totally and completely gone. Marie pops up on rental contracts here and there in Tennessee and Kentucky, and Beau held a few odd jobs, bought a truck, but Jeremiah is nowhere. No jobs, no credit cards, no bank accounts, no license or registration, he doesn't exist.”

“He was a monster like his father,” Dave muttered to himself. He was remembering the boy's face, his eyes. He'd been home when they made the arrest, and he didn't even flinch. “His mother and brother were protecting him, keeping him from following in his father's footsteps. How did I miss it? Hotch saw it. Way back then, he saw it.” 

“So, he's been just...sitting and waiting patiently, all this time. Losing his mother and brother means he has nothing left to stop him from becoming just like his father.”

“Garcia,” Dave said, suddenly, tearing his eyes away from the screen, the photos of Hotch. “Find him. He's going to kill Hotch. He can't be a ghost, there has to be something. Look for anything in his mother's name, his father's name, maybe grandparents...he's holding Hotch somewhere and we need to find it fast.”

..........................................................................................................................

It wasn't George Foyet. Aaron knew that. Mostly. George Foyet was dead and buried, and Aaron didn't believe in ghosts but that mask, looming over him, and that voice – parts of him weren't so sure. The parts that breathed, for example – they didn't seem to have received the memo. They stopped working, packed up and walked out on the job. He was lightheaded, his chest heaved trying to bring in even some small amount of the stale air around him, his heart thundering against his rib cage. He knew it wasn't Foyet, but the way he held the knife out, slashed so easily, opening wounds that hadn't ever really healed still scared him. He wasn’t immune to fear, and Foyet wasn’t the only thing that scared him. Knives still did the trick. Aaron could hear Lindholm counting, making sure these were the right spots, because Aaron had too many scars, more than he'd expected to see and he only wanted those nine. The rest were useless, just marred flesh from a life spent riding headfirst into the line of fire. He just wanted the nine. The nine scars that would burn with the pain of a thousand lifetimes and push David Rossi to do everything he wanted. 

It was easy, hurting someone like Aaron Hotchner, he didn't even really need to try. Everyone thought he was so tough but he wore his heart on his sleeve, you just had to be looking and that's the thing about him – no one ever really looked. He had a way of blending into his surroundings, like he was made of mist, and eyes just passed right over him – except for David Rossi, he saw him. Lindholm was looking at Aaron now and realizing the power he truly wielded here. He only wanted one thing, but in that flash of a moment, staring hard into Aaron's terrified face through the mask, he saw unlimited potential. That was the power his father had, taking people's children – you choose correctly, he'd say, and you don't just have a lot of people's something, you have one person's everything. One person's desperation was the key to power. Except Jeremiah didn't want children, that didn't help him – all he'd ever wanted was to make his father proud of him and he knew how to do it. His father had chosen the weaker Agent, and he’d chosen wrong - leaving him to rot in prison instead of receiving his true glory. Jeremiah knew he’d gotten it right, staring across at this scarred man hanging from the rafters, a halo of golden lamplight behind him making him almost look like a fallen angel. This would be the glory.

The key was David Rossi's everything, bleeding in his hands. He cut again.

…......................................................................................................................

Dave's phone buzzed. A text from a blocked number. With shaking hands, he opened it to find a video of Aaron, his wrists bound above his head, hanging from a chain attached to what looked like low rafter beams. His chest was heaving wildly, he was muttering something unintelligible, his scars ripped open and dripping. He was in the middle of what looked like a full blown panic attack, Foyet's mask lay at his feet and Aaron's eyes were trained on it. Dave felt a wild numbness overtake his entire body as the blood drained from every vein. His hands shook as the video started over, auto repeat for eternity. When his head stopped swimming, when he realized he was still there in the room with the team, he nearly crushed the phone in his hand before throwing it across the room, watching it bash into the wall and pop apart. Garcia was already pulling the video from his phone, but she didn't want to see it. 

“Rossi,” Derek warned, watching as JJ crouched down to pick up the phone and put it back together with all the patience of a mother after a child’s temper tantrum. The screen was cracked but still functioning. Dave shot Derek a look that said not to continue with whatever it was he was about to say, and to his surprise, Derek obeyed. Dave stood, staring at the wall where his phone had hit, until he heard a sound that chilled him to the bone – it was Aaron, calling for him softly, and he turned to see the video on the screen. They were all watching and Dave thought he was going to be sick. It was the most awful thing he'd ever seen, and it was on display for everyone. None of them had ever seen Aaron's anxiety, the scars from Foyet, none except Dave who had seen it all. He could feel his nerves lighting on fire, his lungs became balls of flame. His friend needed him desperately and here he was sitting in a conference room with a captive audience, front row tickets to a private exhibition. 

“Garcia turn it off,” Dave growled, standing up. “Now.” She fumbled with her computer, forcing the whole screen to go black, but the damage was done. JJ and Reid had tears in their eyes, Garcia was sobbing, and Derek and Emily were just staring blankly at the empty screen. As Dave looked around the room, he realized they were seeing Aaron, really seeing him, maybe some of them for the first time. Not as just their leader, a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board, the person who would always take the fall – but as a human who could break just as easily as anyone else. They'd all done it, imagined that he was there tied up but fine, because he was always fine, he always won. He always saved them. The video had changed all of it in an instant.

“Don't say a word about this ever,” Dave said through gritted teeth, staring hard at everyone now in turn. “Never mention this to him. Not a word.” It was more than just a command, the way he looked around that room, it was a threat. He loved these people dearly but he was in no mental space to play nice. They all stared back at him, and he could see a little fear in their eyes, even Derek. 

“Rossi,” Emily began, handing him back his phone. “He's in a basement somewhere. Does that house have a basement? Could he have been there?”

“No. He wasn't there,” Rossi muttered, picking his phone up off of the table, running his thumb along the long crack down the middle of the screen. It was buzzing again, more videos. He shot Garcia a damning look and stalked out of the round table room and down to Aaron's office, slamming the door behind him. He flopped down onto the couch and opened his phone, his hands shaking with rage. Another video. And another. Each video was worse than the last. Then a text that just said “save him. hurry. the key is right under your nose.” with a smiley face. Dave sat upright and looked around the office, eyes darting wildly for anything out of place. Anything that would give him a clue. On a shelf, he saw all of Aaron's photos – family photos, special occasions, his medals and awards, his certificates, and there it was – one was face down. Dave stood and approached slowly, reaching out to lift the frame, afraid of what he'd find. The photo was his favorite, he had the same photo in his office - it was Dave and Gideon with their arms around Aaron on his first day of work in the BAU, all smiling, excited at what the future was going to bring. Happy before the years chipped away at their smiles. He pried at the frame with shaking fingers, removing the photo to reveal a small envelope with another Polaroid inside – a picture of doors, rotted wood broken and dangling by their hinges, a root cellar that was probably used only as cavern for creatures needing shelter anymore. Dave felt a pang of recognition ignite in his stomach, but he couldn't place it.

He went back through the videos, the location was in them, he was sure Lindholm had already given him everything he needed. He wanted to be caught, and Dave knew why. Maybe he'd always known, he was just fooling himself into thinking it could go differently because it had gone differently for Gideon. But he wasn’t Gideon. He didn’t have the patience Gideon had, he didn’t have the faith that Gideon had all those years ago. Watching the videos made him sick to his stomach, he could hear Aaron calling for him as Jeremiah cut into his skin, just deep enough to tear apart those scars, softly under his breath he was calling for Dave – or warning him, he couldn't tell. Dave could only make out the sound of his name through the ringing in his ears. And then he saw it. In the background was a small photo nailed to a beam, and Dave recognized it instantly – it had been at the family's home when they arrested Theodore Lindholm, hanging in the kitchen. It was an old photo of their farm in Virginia, belonging to Lindholm's parents. It was where he grew up, where he first realized he was a monster. He didn't even know how long he sat there, watching those videos, over and over again. 

“Rossi?” Emily asked, peeking into the office. “We're ordering some dinner, do you want anything?”

“Not hungry, thank you.”

“You have to stop watching that video. It's not...”

“They're helping,” he said softly, pressing pause. They were helping firm up his resolve to do what he knew would have to happen. Every moan, every cry made him angrier, more desperate. Every time Aaron gasped for air, hiccuped, whimpered was casting him deeper into the flames. She sighed and sat down beside Dave on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. He was angry at her for breaking his concentration, for bringing him back to reality, to humanity. 

“They? God, Rossi.”

“Garcia has all of them. I'd prefer it if you didn't...”

“We won't. I know he wouldn't want us to see him like that, I get it. I’m sure that wasn't his first panic attack, but we've never seen it before and I know he'd want to keep it that way.”

“Excuse me?”

“The way you reacted in there to the video, tried to keep us from seeing, I just figured. Has he always had them or just since Foyet?”

“As long as I've known him,” Dave sighed, staring straight into Aaron's face frozen in desperation, cast in the long, twisting shadows of firelight. 

“He trusts you,” she said softly, “He trusts you more than he trusts anyone.” 

“And look what that got him.”

“This isn't your fault,” she said, peering at him suspiciously. She was a little afraid of him, if she was being honest. 

“No, it's not. I know that.”

“Then stop beating yourself up. We’re going to get him back.” 

“I know what he wants, I just have to wait until he...” Until he what? He didn't need to finish the sentence, Emily already knew, she could see it in Dave's eyes. His entire body was different, rigid and radiating an anger she'd never thought he was capable of. She was realizing that she had been fooling herself all this time about how well she knew these people she surrounded herself with every day. Maybe they all had. 

“You can't...”

“I will. Without a second thought. I will because if I don't, he'll kill Aaron. I know how this goes Emily, I've been here before. It's exactly like his father, except this time I don't have Jason with me. Jason was the reason it went the way it did, I was ready to fire. His father wanted to go out in a blaze of glory and it was taken from him, because Jason wouldn't do it. I won't hesitate this time.”

“You really think he'll kill Hotch?”

“No question. He's already doing it slowly. He's not a sadist who enjoys torture, the torture is only a means to an end. He's torturing Hotch for me. To get what he wants from me. He's already given me all the reason I need to do what he wants. “

“But Rossi if you know that...if you know it you can't possibly...”

“You won't be there to stop me, Emily. None of you will.”

The room went silent for a moment, and Emily stood up, leaving without another word. She shut the door softly behind her, leaving Dave alone with his thoughts and the videos. 

Hours passed, and he'd stayed in Aaron's office, staring at the photo of the three of them and the root cellar doors while he waited on the final text, he knew it would be soon. He could feel it in his bones. The door opened again just as he got it, a photo of Aaron lying on the ground, in the dirt, bound and bleeding, curled around himself. In his hands was the same photo, smeared with bloody fingerprints, and Dave knew it was time. With the photo came a short text: _he’s ready now. anyone else and he dies. you know where to go. make it fast. bring your gun._

He had to go, and he had to go alone. He dropped the photo and the frame onto Aaron's desk and made for the door when he saw it start to open.

“Garcia found how he got his information,” Emily announced, walking into the office without knocking this time. Dave stared at her with cold eyes. “We found him on the security cameras putting the picture in your office, he'd brought Alicia downstairs lunch – he's a driver for a local food delivery service. He stood and talked to her for a long time before coming upstairs with a guest pass – Garcia is looking back and he's been coming down here almost every day with lunch for her, and on more than one occasion she gave him something in return. She's been giving him Hotch's files, Dave – that's how he knew about Foyet. Morgan and Reid are going to talk with her now, JJ and I are going to talk to his boss. He's been going by the name Jeremy Lewis. You stay here, we need you to stay put. He's targeting you I don't want him getting any closer. Stop watching those videos. We're going to get him back.”

Dave nodded, though he intended to leave as soon as the team had moved out. None of their information really mattered to him, he knew everything he needed to know in order to do his job, and the time was now. He couldn’t explain why he’d waited, why he hadn’t gone before the final message, something in his bones just said stay put, but now it was screaming go. He knew where he needed to be and he needed to get there fast. He gave Emily and the team enough time to clear out, then he rifled through Aaron's desk until he found his emergency pouch, hidden in the back of the drawer, that contained small doses of all of his medications, just in case. He shoved the pouch into his pocket and tried to put everything in the drawer back into its place, not wanting to leave a mess behind him. Moments later, he was rushing out the door and peeling out of the garage. 

His phone rang, and he toyed with the idea of not picking it up, but it was Garcia and she wouldn’t stop until she had him. He needed to make sure no one came after him. “This is Rossi,” he said, pulling onto the highway. 

“Sir, you're going after him alone aren't you?” she squeaked, and didn't wait for him to answer. “I didn't watch the other videos I promise, no one did...I just...be safe. Please.”

“Thank you Garcia,” he said, but his voice was dry, monotone. He didn't care about being safe, he had one thing on his mind and it had nothing to do with his own safety. Jeremiah Lindholm wanted to be caught, wanted to go out in a way that would make his dad proud, and he was about to get his wish. Dave wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his head. He'd already made up his mind. 

“Sir, we know how he found you. JJ and Emily spoke with his boss, he's had deliveries to pick up at your cafe almost every day for the last two months, he'd been grabbing those orders before anyone else could – he's been watching you a long time.”

“Garcia, tell the team not to follow me. Make sure they don't. I have to go,” he muttered, clicking the phone off. He turned off the ringer and just drove, he knew where to go instinctively. He'd been there a number of times since the case had ended, he was a sentimental man and sometimes he just liked to drive by places he knew in the hopes that the horrors would disappear and give way to beauty. The farm itself was peaceful and lovely, overgrown but still beautiful. There was a small house on the property that was dilapidated, nearly all the paint had been worn away, leaving only the grey brown of rotting wood. It listed just slightly to the side, like in an old painting, and Rossi knew beneath it was a root cellar holding his dearest friend. The same root cellar that had held countless children, bound by their wrists and ankles to those rusty old shackles that now held Aaron. He pulled onto the property slowly, tires crunching against the sticks and grass and dirt, crashing into deep rock filled holes worn away over time and covered by an overgrowth of vines and weeds – there was no driveway. He could hear the brush scraping his paint job, wood squealing against metal and cringed. He'd need to get it repainted after this, detailed, but it was likely to get worse before it got better. He reached the house and eased his poor car into park, sliding out with his gun in his hand. He crept through the open field, the waning sun his only light as it cascaded in purples and golds over the tree lined hills. There was nothing for him to worry about, Lindholm would already know he was there but he was in no danger, he knew it. He could see a dim light coming from the root cellar door, flickering. Old oil lanterns, this house had been without electricity for decades now. As he approached, the door flung open and a shadowy figure stepped out into the twilight, dragging something. Aaron, he was dragging Aaron on his knees by the ropes around his wrists. Dave could hear Aaron protesting, crying out for him not to come closer, to just let him go, his voice the sound of pure desperation. He could hear Aaron's bare knees scraping through the overgrown weeds, against the rocks and the thorny vines that had overtaken the grounds. When they'd reached the spot where Dave stood, face to face, Jeremiah dragged Aaron up onto his feet onto legs that were bleeding and shaking, holding a knife to his throat. The knife, already crusted with Aaron's blood, pressed hard against his skin. 

“Dave,” Aaron whimpered, unable to move but staring straight at him. “Don't kill him, please. It's what he wants.”

Jeremiah approached, jerking Aaron's weak body forward, the knife slicing into his neck just slightly until a small stream of blood trickled down and pooled near his clavicle. Aaron gulped and asked Dave again not to shoot, begged him. He sounded desperate and breathless but he kept his eyes trained on Dave. Jeremiah just stood there, staring at Dave, eyes glinting in the half-light of dusk. 

“My gift to you. If you have the guts to take it. You gonna be his hero? Does he even see the way you look at him? I do...I see it...be his knight in shini-”

Dave's gun went off, one shot, right between the eyes before the sentence was finished. He fell backward to the ground with a sick smile on his face, pulling Aaron down with him. Dave holstered his gun and rushed to his friend, grabbing for the knife with shaking hands to cut the ties at his wrists and ankles. The ropes ripped at the sticky, scabbed over wounds they'd bonded with, tearing them back open. He pulled Aaron close to him, against him, and held him there. He felt Aaron's heart thundering in his chest, remnants of the panic attack that hadn't ever ended, and felt hot tears and sticky blood wetting his shirt. Dave just held him tighter, curling around him, running his hands through Aaron's hair to try and soothe him. 

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Dave whispered, and Aaron nodded. The country road was black as night, no one was coming, not yet. By the time anyone arrived, the two men would be gone, only the dead would remain. Dave rose to his feet and pulled Aaron up gently, draping his friend over him and supporting the entirety of his weight as they turned their backs to the house and moved to the car. He helped Aaron into the passenger seat and covered his shivering body with his jacket, the best he could offer. Aaron accepted it gladly, hugging it around himself, smelling all of the familiar scents of his friend, warm spiced cologne and Italian leather. His breathing calmed, just a little, losing himself there in that jacket, it cleared his pounding head and slowed the thundering of his heart. 

“Your car,” Aaron whispered miserably, resting his head against the cool glass window, his breathing ragged and painful. 

“It's alright,” Dave replied softly, buckling himself in and exiting the property, feeling rocks and sticks damaging his car with every move.

“I'll pay for it,” he heard Aaron mutter, eyes closed as he tried to slow his breathing. He pulled the jacket tighter around himself, shivering. “And your jacket.” Dave smiled sadly at his ridiculous friend.

“You do that,” he replied, not wanting to get into an argument with the other man right now. Under no circumstance would he allow Aaron to pay for any of it, and he was fairly sure Aaron knew it too. 

“He told me...” Aaron was trying to speak, to calm himself, to slow his heart. Talking hurt and he was so tired, but talking meant he was there, right there, and with the safest person in the world. “He told me he wanted me to kill him, like I did his father. But...that I was too weak, so he needed you.”

“You didn't kill his father.”

“May as well have,” Aaron said, turning his face to Dave. “Doesn't matter. You shouldn't have killed him.”

“He was going to kill you, Aaron,” Dave muttered, pulling off of the quiet country road and heading back toward the city. “I had to.”

“I knew you would. I just...didn't want that for you. I know...I know what it feels like to...” he stopped, he couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't breathe again, felt his chest constrict as he saw flashes of his own bloody fists after killing Foyet. Dave pulled onto a dark side street and put the car in park, unbuckling himself and Aaron, thankful for old cars and their gratuitous use of bench seats. He pulled Aaron into his lap and held him, rubbing his arm gently, up and down in steady movements. “I didn't want that for you.”

“The alternative was worse, there was no other way,” Dave replied softly. “It isn't your fault, I figured it out before I came and I made my choice. If I'd sent the police in, or even the team, he would have killed you right away. He did this for us. It was only ever me that could end it with you alive. We both know that.”

Aaron nodded sadly, tears pooling beneath his cheek on Dave's leg, his hands balled into fists wrapped desperately around the silk lining of the jacket. 

“I brought your meds, if you want,” Dave offered, slipping his hand into a pocket to pull out the small pouch. Aaron shook his head, turning his face down into the jacket, pressing hard against Dave's leg. 

“I'll get sick,” he whispered, though he desperately wanted the sweet release of the Valium inside that pouch. “Can't.” Dave nodded, he'd already known but he had to try. He set the small pouch on the dash and focused on his own breathing, trying to force Aaron to follow his lead. Deep breaths, over and over, so slowly. Deeper and deeper he forced his lungs to pull in as much oxygen as he could. 

“Hospital?” Dave asked, and Aaron nodded, forcing himself to try and sit up, but Dave just held him where he was, letting Aaron lay down as he drove. “I'll drive carefully. Promise.”

Before hitting the road again, Dave turned his phone back on and saw that he'd missed 23 calls and even more texts, but he ignored them all and dialed Emily's number. 

“ROSSI! Where the HELL are you?!”

“I have Hotch, I'm taking him to the hospital. It would have taken too long to wait for an ambulance. We're about ten minutes out.” 

“You idiot,” she sighed, but he could hear the relief in her voice. “You stupid fucking idiot. He's okay?”

“He's with me,” was all Dave could say. He didn't want to lie and he didn't know if Aaron was okay, but he was alive. She sighed, knowing she was bashing her head against a brick wall with these two. 

“You shot Lindholm?”

“I did.”

“You'd better prepare to be put through the ringer, you moron. You should have waited for us. I told you to wait.” She was rushing for the SUV now, the team behind her, ready to leave the scene to the police and the forensic team. There was nothing left there for them. 

“I'll be fine,” Dave said softly. “He's alive. Doesn’t matter what happens. I’d do it again.”

She nodded, and she understood. And in some ways, she agreed. Maybe she would have even done the same. “We'll meet you at the hospital, don't let him go anywhere.”

“I don't plan to.”

….................................................................................................

It didn't take long for things to return to normal. Never did. If it had been anyone else, it might have been different but not Aaron. He had this way about him, this way of just fading into the background, and when he wasn't right in front of you, he wasn't even on your mind. It was a defense mechanism he'd carefully curated throughout his life, self-preservation at its height. It could get lonely sometimes, hiding in plain sight, but he always knew that if he looked in the right direction, caught the right light, he'd see Dave, and Dave would see him. Really see him. Dave always saw him. It was enough.


End file.
